Scribblings From The Public Restroom Stalls Of The Gods

Sorry for the stretch of non-bloggification there – this time it wasn’t my idea. My hosting service had a bit of a databalse server hiccup, so I could literally add nothing to the site. There wouldn’t even have been an update for theLogBook.com this morning if not for the fact that I’m making a conscious effort to “work ahead”. Given how many upheavals come into my schedule just from being a dad, I’m not sure the site would be here still if I wasn’t ahead of the curve – whatever curveballs get thrown at me right now won’t derail the coming weekend’s update, because I’m 2-3 weeks ahead of it whenever and wherever possible.

In between baby time and household chores, I’ve been watching and/or listening to a lot of Doctor Who lately. Why? Okay, here’s the deal: in April, when the new season begins, theLogBook will be doubling up on Doctor Who episode guide entries, one from the original series and one from the new series each week. In looking over what hadn’t been covered from the original series – mainly from the B&W years – I discovered that there were 13 episodes that hadn’t been included in the episode guide section yet. That’s also how many episodes are in the upcoming season, so I’m watching that backlog of episodes now, writing episode entries as I go, and when we reach the final episode of the new show’s latest season, there’ll be a complete 45+ year guide to the series. Neat how that works out, huh? To be fair, many of the missing installments have been listened to in audio form only while I work around the house or work at the farm, because that’s the only medium in which some of them exist. Shoveling horse poop passes so much more quickly when Patrick Troughton and the Yeti are chasing each other around in your head while you do it. The real irony of it all is that, as you might expect, the one Doctor Who I have been saving for last is the one I want to watch the least. Just today I finished my journeys with William Hartnell; yesterday while working at the farm I said farewell to Patrick Troughton. The one I’ve been putting off, which I’ve seen before and have little or no desire to see again, is…Meglos, starring Tom Baker. Or, as I call it, with apologies to another British science fiction show I love, Smeglos. Now, perhaps my long-delayed revisitation with Meglos will show me that it wasn’t that bad in the first place – I’m open to that – but I just don’t remember it as being too great, the last gasp of indulgent silliness in the Tom Baker era. Still, I have it, and I’m giving myself until the new season starts to watch it in its entirety. Maybe I ought to chase that accomplishment down by going to Lulu.com and turning the whole thing into an “unauthorized! unexpurgated! unbifurcated!” book or something. You know, with all that spare time it probably sounds like I have.

Evan’s teething pains are back with a vengeance, but something even more worrying is asserting itself too: independence. He doesn’t want dad to hold his bottle anymore. He wants to hold it. He’s also scooting himself around on the floor at a pretty good click, laying on his butt and his back and pushing with his feet and legs. (A quick examination of my mother’s baby book reveals that I did this too, thus earning the nickname Scooter.) I know none of these things are on par with, oh, watching him go down the street on a bicycle for the first time, or watching him go off to college or anything, but it’s the first step on that path. It makes me realize how fleeting my time with him is. If he leaves home when he’s 18, and he’s six months old now, that means that 1/36 of my time with Evan is over. It’s gone. That’s a bit sobering. I’m already keenly aware that every moment is precious, every story I read to him is precious, every bit of playtime is precious. I get other stuff done while he’s sleeping, but as long as he’s awake, daddy is all his.… Read more